In the Heat of the Spotlight. Кейт Хьюит
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think,’ Luke said slowly, ‘there’s a reason for everything you do, even if it seems completely crazy from the outside.’
She let out a little laugh, the first genuine sound of humour he’d heard from her. ‘Thank you for that compliment … I think.’
‘You’re welcome.’
They stared at each other like two wrestlers on either side of the mat. Some kind of truce had been called, but Luke didn’t know what it was. Or why he was here. His calm, no-nonsense plan to hire Aurelie for the Asia openings—to change the public’s opinion of both her and the store, the ultimate reinvention—seemed like the flimsiest of pretexts after that kiss.
He’d come here because he wanted her, full stop. It really was that simple.
Aurelie stared at Luke, wondered what tack he’d try next. The honesty had surprised her. Unsettled her, because she knew he was speaking the truth and she didn’t know what to do with it. She wasn’t used to honesty.
Trying for something close to insouciance, she turned away from him, picked up her discarded mug of coffee and kept the kitchen counter between them.
Luke folded his arms. ‘So you still haven’t told me why you kissed me.’
She shrugged. ‘Why not?’ That kiss had started out as a way to prove he just wanted one thing and it wasn’t her song. But then she’d felt the softness of his lips, his hair, and she’d forgotten she’d been trying to prove a point. She’d felt a flicker of … something. Desire? It seemed impossible. And then Luke had deepened the kiss and she’d felt herself retreat into numbness as she always did.
She took a sip of her now-cold coffee. She shouldn’t have kissed him at all. She didn’t want to be Aurelie here, in the only place she’d ever thought of as home. She wanted to be herself, but she didn’t know how to do that with someone like Luke. Or with anyone, really. She’d been pretending for so long she wasn’t sure she could stop. ‘Why don’t you tell me why you want to hire me for these reopenings.’
‘I told you already.’
‘The real reason.’
He stared at her, his dark eyes narrowed, lips thinned. He really was an attractive man, not that it mattered. Still a part of her could admire the chocolate-coloured hair, could remember how soft it had felt threaded through her fingers. How hard and toned his body had been against hers. How warm his eyes had seemed—
She needed to put a stop to that kind of thinking right now. ‘Well? Why?’
‘It’s more complicated than I’d prefer it to be,’ Luke said, the words seeming wrested from him. ‘It makes good business sense on one level, and on another … yes.’ He shrugged, spread his hands. ‘Like I said before, attraction comes into it. Probably. It doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it.’
‘Despite the fact that you just did.’
‘If you thrust your tongue into my mouth, I’ll respond. I’m a man.’
Exactly. And she knew men. Still, the extent of his honesty unnerved her. He could have easily denied it. Lied. ‘What are you,’ she said, ‘Pinocchio?’
He glanced away, his expression shuttering. ‘Something like that.’
The man could not tell a lie. How fascinating, considering she told dozens. Hundreds. Her whole life was a lie. ‘So if I asked you anything, you’d have to tell me the truth?’
‘I don’t like lying, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Don’t like it, or aren’t good at it?’
‘Both.’
She was tempted to ask him something really revealing, embarrassing even, yet she decided not to. Any more intimacy with this man was not advisable.
‘Okay, then. Tell me just what this whole Asia thing is about.’
‘I’m relaunching four stores across Asia. Manila, Singapore, Hong Kong and Tokyo. I want you to sing at each opening.’
‘Sing my new song.’
‘That’s about it.’
‘That’s kind of a risk, don’t you think?’
He raised his eyebrows in both challenge and query. ‘Is it?’
‘How long were you standing on my porch?’
‘Long enough.’
She had the absolutely insane impulse to ask him what he’d thought of that song. She’d been working on it for months, and it meant more to her than she ever wanted to admit—which was why she wouldn’t ask. ‘Why don’t you want my usual Aurelie schtick?’ she asked instead.
He nodded, and it felt like an affirmation. ‘That’s what it is, isn’t it? A schtick. An act. Not who you really are.’
She didn’t like the way his gaze seemed to sear right through her. She didn’t like it at all, and yet part of her was crying out yes. Yes, it’s pretend, it’s not me, and you’re the only person who has ever realised that. From somewhere she dredged up the energy to roll her eyes. Laugh it off. ‘Of course it’s a schtick. Any famous person is just an act, Bryant. A successful one.’
‘Call me Luke.’ She pressed her lips together. Said nothing. He took a step towards her. ‘So will you do it?’
‘I can’t give you an answer right now.’
‘You’d better give me an answer soon, because I fly to the Philippines next week.’
She let out a low breath, shook her head. She wasn’t saying no, she just felt …
‘Scared?’
‘What?’
‘You’re scared of me. Why?’ She stared at him, wordless with shock, and he gave her a little toe-curling smile. ‘The honesty thing? It goes both ways. I call it as I see it, Aurelie. Always. So why are you scared?’
She bristled. ‘Because I don’t know you. Because you practically stalked me, coming to my house here, muscling your way in—’
‘I asked. Politely. And you’re the one who kissed me, so—’
‘Just forget it.’ She turned away, hating how much he saw and didn’t see at the same time. Hating how confused and needy he made her feel.
‘Tell me why you’re scared.’
‘I’m not scared.’ She was terrified.
‘Are you scared of me, or of singing?’ He took another step towards her, his body relaxed and so contained. He was so sure of himself, of who he was, and it made her angry. Jealous. Scared.
‘Neither—’ Both.
‘You know you’re not that great a liar, either.’
She whirled around to face him, to say something truly scathing, but unfortunately nothing came to mind. All her self-righteous indignation evaporated, and all the posturing she depended on collapsed. She had nothing. And she was so very tired of pretending, of acting as if she didn’t care, of being someone else. Even if the thought of being herself—and having people see that—was utterly terrifying.
‘Of course I’m a little … wary,’ she snapped, unable to lose that brittle, self-protective edge. ‘The press lives to ridicule me. People love to hate me. Do you think I really enjoy opening myself up to all that again and again?’
He stared at her for a moment, saw her, and it took all her strength to stand there and take it, not to say something stupid or suggestive, hide behind innuendo. She lifted her chin instead and returned his gaze.
‘You act like you do.’
‘And I told you, every famous